Charlie
by anonyMOUSE11
Summary: The CSI's struggle to find Sara and Grissom's son, while they both must relive a past case if they are to save their child's future... GS of course...RR please...STORY ON HIATUS
1. Default Chapter

Disclaimer-I don't own the character's of CSI, and it's probably a good thing I don't or you don't know what I might do...mwahaha!  
  
Anyway, please review, and tell me if it was the worst thing you've ever read, or if it, by some miraculous chance, it wasn't half bad...just review...I DON'T REALLY CARE! Reviews are like food to a starving fanfiction writer...anyway, here goes!  
  
*****  
"Sara? Can you come into my office for a minute please? There's something I need to talk to you about." Sara looked at Gil Grissom worriedly. He was leaning on the door for support, and his face looked white and haunted.  
  
"What is it?" She gasped, closing the door in a daze. Her mind ran through the list of things that would make Grissom look like he did. There was only one reason...and it better not be that...  
  
"Charlie has been kidnapped."  
  
Sara sat down in a nearby chair with a thump. She felt for a minute that she was drowning in disbelief and terror, and the room began to spin. A mother's worst nightmare had just become a reality for Sara Grissom...  
She still remembered their wedding day with the utmost clarity. Catherine had nodded with a knowing smile, and had asked what had taken so long. Nick, Warrick, and Greg had been there too...grinning like idiots the entire time, though she remembered that Greg had acted a little wistful when he told her that she looked beautiful in her dress. And then there was Grissom...When she saw him standing there, waiting for her, she felt like she was floating down the aisle, the world around her muting, and focusing on one point in space, her love, her future...Grissom.  
  
It wasn't soon after that she found out she was pregnant. At first, she was a little dubious (she had never been that good with kids), but some of Grissom's delirious joy soon transferred to her, and she excitedly awaited the day when Charles Andrew Grissom would arrive into the world. When he did come, Sara thought he was the most beautiful baby in the world. He had a wave of surprisingly black hair, his mother's chocolate eyes, and a gap- toothed grin that suited his cheerful, good-natured disposition. But if Sara loved Charlie, it was no comparison to how Grissom felt about his son. He adored him...all the more because he looked so much like his mother. Over time, the chubby baby grew into an adorable four year old, and Sara learned that she couldn't remember life without him...  
And now he was gone. Sara looked at Grissom with wide eyes, quickly filling up with tears. He was at her side in a second...holding her tight, allowing her to cry into his chest. She stayed there a long time, glad for the temporary protection his arms around her gave, but she knew she'd have to face the world at some point. She'd be damned if she wasn't going to face it head on...but first she needed her moment of weakness. When she pulled from him, she noticed that his eyes were damp too.  
  
"Alright," she said with a steady, controlled tone, dashing the remaining treacherous tears from her eyes.  
  
"Is anyone at the scene yet?"  
  
**That scene is her house, the home she just left a few hours ago, with her Charlie waving goodbye from the window...NO**  
  
"We're CSI's dammit. Crime is what we know. We'll find him, Grissom, don't worry. I'll find him."  
Grissom sighed in relief. That was his Sara. The Sara he knew and loved with all his heart. He had been desperately afraid when he had called Sara over to tell her, and when he saw her face, another part of his heart broke, the part that was still left after the phone call from Brass...  
  
"Yes, Sara. I know. Now, we are going to need to go out there, and I'm going to tell the rest of the team what has happened. They have to know." Wordlessly, she nodded.  
  
***  
  
In the breakroom, everything was perfectly normal...or as normal as things could get with the nightshift. Greg and Nick were squabbling, and Warrick and Catherine listened, egging them on, or adding in an occasional comment of their own. When Sara walked into the breakroom with Grissom's arm around her shoulder to support her, they were assailed with Nick and Greg clamoring for their point of view to be heard. Then Catherine saw Sara's tear-stained face, fell silent, and shot a dagger-filled look at the others.  
  
"I have your assignments," Grissom said wearily. Catherine looked enquiringly at him, but he pretended not to notice.  
  
"Sara...you and I will take an apparent suicide on the Strip." At that point, it was Sara who was looking at him. She stared at him in open mouthed amazement, daring him to do what she thought he was going to do.  
  
"The rest of you...Catherine, Warrick, Nick? You'll be working on the kidnapping of Charles Grissom." There was dead silence in the breakroom. The petty squabble had been completely forgotten. Finally Catherine managed to croak out...  
  
"Grissom...what? Details please..."  
  
"His babysitter phoned it in. She had been knocked out, but when she regained consciousness, she found Charlie missing and a note, so she called 911 immediately."  
  
"Grissom. May I talk to you outside please?" Sara said tightly, being painfully polite. Then she exploded.  
  
"What the hell do you think you're doing? Assigning me to a suicide when my son's out there? I can't believe you'd...don't you care about him?" The last words struck home.  
  
"Yes, I do care! Which is exactly why I'm not letting either of us take this case, though I'd do anything to be able to... The other three will do everything they can do to find him, you know that. And you also know that if his parents processed the scene, the kidnapper's lawyers would latch on to that...say we compromised the evidence somehow. Sara...please...this is as difficult for me as it is for you. Remember that you're a CSI, and remember your training."  
  
"I can't believe you! You pretend to love him, pretend to care about us. It's easy for you to say 'stay away,' you don't have any feelings! You're the perfect, impersonal CSI at all times. Uncaring, cold... What do you care that you're only son is missing? You're a CSI, so you aren't allowed to have emotions. I hate you, and I'm damn well going to do all that I can to find MY child, no matter what YOUR excuse is! Go to hell!" With that parting sentiment, Sara stomped off. Grissom stood where he was...stricken. How could Sara think about him like that? How could she not know that his love for Charlie was only paled by his love for her? Did he really come across as so inhuman?  
  
Finally, he moved. He walked to his office, where it had all began, locked the door, and sat down at his desk with his head in his hands.  
Sara was fuming. She couldn't believe what Grissom had just done. How could he possible twist the facts to make it seem like it wouldn't be a good idea for her to process her own son's case? Shows what a sort of person he was! Well, she wouldn't listen to his lies. Of course she would find Charlie. There was nothing else more obvious than that! Just then, Catherine walked quickly up to her, looking as mad as Sara felt.  
  
"Sara, come with me," she stated. It wasn't a question. Catherine led her to Grissom's office.  
  
"What the hell are we...?"  
  
"Shhh, just look." Sara stared through the window at Grissom, sitting there forlornly. For the first time, she felt a small pang of guilt, but she pushed it away resolutely. He deserves to be unhappy! Sara turned angrily away. Catherine shrugged. She had done what she needed to do. Sara's conscience and love would do the rest.  
Sara plopped down in a chair in the breakroom, and thought about her conversation with Grissom. At first, she was comfortingly furious. But then the small pang that had been plaguing her earlier came back with reinforcements. She couldn't get that picture of Grissom out of her head...his forehead resting on his desk, looking so defeated and unhappy. Her Grissom. She couldn't remember ever seeing him look that way. Silent tears began to stream down her face, despite her resolution not to cry. Finally, screwing up her courage, she walked to his door and knocked.  
Seeing her there, Grissom was tempted not to open the door. Why subject himself to another angry tirade? Then, he noticed she was crying. No matter what she had said to him, seeing her cry was ten times worse. So he opened the door.  
"Yes, Sara?" Grissom asked, his eyes dull.  
  
"Oh, Griss, I'm so sorry!" She cried, feeling even worse. "You know I didn't mean anything I said! I was just so worried about Charlie...and I took it out on you. I'm sorry." She lowered her voice, and whispered sadly, "I love you Grissom..."  
  
Grissom would have killed himself then if it meant stopping her tears.  
  
"It's all right, Sara. It's OK. I love you too, with all my soul. I know you didn't mean what you said. It's OK." But his eyes said that he knew she had meant it...and that he wouldn't forget as fast as he would forgive. The wound was still there, especially because he knew what she had said was true.  
  
"Grissom?" Sara sniffled, giving him a watery smile. "I think I'm ready to go work that suicide now...." 


	2. Suspicions and Nightmares

T I still don't own CSI, in case anyone was wondering, at least...last time I looked. I might have clicked the wrong button on E-bay or something...you never know!  
  
Thank you for reviewing everyone! It means a lot, and I like all the criticism I've been getting...  
  
******  
  
"Forget the suicide, Sara. Eckley is sending someone to work the night shift tonight. We're going home..." Grissom was a little worried at what Sara's reaction to this statement would be...after all, it was hard enough getting Sara to stay home on her real days off! That's why he was surprised when Sara gave him a grateful glance.  
  
"Yeah, I don't know what I might do if I had to work a case tonight....Thanks, Grissom." She sighed in relief. Grissom sighed too, having been afraid of being potentially maimed, blinded, or roasted over a slow fire by a wrathful Sara.  
  
***  
  
When they pulled up at their apartment building, and Sara noticed all the police cars around her house, she wanted to run back to the lab and hide in her locker. But the warm, comforting pressure of Grissom's hand on her arm allowed her to walk up to the front door that was no longer hers.  
  
Charlie's nanny, Kate, was standing there, white-faced and shivering, talking to Brass, clutching a sweater and sporting a bandage over her wild red hair. She noticed Sara and Grissom walking toward her, which seemed to be the last straw. She crumpled to the ground and burst into tears for what was obviously not the first time that night.  
  
Sara barely restrained herself from running over and shaking the woman. Now she knew how Catherine had felt when Eddie died. She was trying to tell herself that it wasn't Kate's fault....when her eyes narrowed. Maybe it was. She couldn't trust anyone.  
  
Sara strode over, and Kate started babbling.  
  
"Oh, Sara! I'm so sorry! I can't believe...it's just so... Well, you being a policewoman and all, you'll probably wish to hear what happened," she babbled with a soft, musical Irish accent. Only the present circumstances stopped Sara from smiling. Kate had insisted from the beginning that CSI was too cumbersome a word, and refused believe that it was anything but a fancy name police people gave themselves to feel important.  
  
"CSI, Kate...I'm a CSI," Sara chided with the comfortableness of a well known sore point.  
  
"She's not a CSI now, however," Grissom said sternly, coming up behind Sara and placing a hand on her shoulder. "Remember..." he warned.  
  
"Yes, I know," she brushed his arm off impatiently. "But I want to hear what your excu--your story is."  
  
"Well, it was about ten, it was. Charlie was fast asleep, poor little lamb. Then, I heard a knock at the door. When I went to answer it, a man dressed in black with a mask on his face leapt in and we started to struggle a bit. I tried to stab him with an umbrella from the stand, but he grabbed that ugly lamp you were trying to sell online, which nobody would buy...and hit me a good crack over the head with it. You can see my bandage...it was a dreadful mess I'm sorry to say. The last thought before I fainted was about your lovely carpet...well, I suppose a good cleaner will get it out. Then, when I woke up, I ran to Charlie's room. He wasn't there, poor dear! He was gone! I ran back to call the police, and that's when I saw a piece of paper on the table. It was some sort of note..." Brass cut off Kate's shock-induced ramblings. Who really cared about the state of the carpet at a time like this anyway?  
  
"You might want to see this note. It has definite implications...and you no doubt have already picked up on the fact that the umbrella might have evidence on it. We'll have Cath or Warrick take a look. But in the meantime..."  
  
Brass led Grissom and Sara into their apartment. To Sara, it felt surreal. An overlap of her professional life and home life. At some points...it was the usual drill. Walking through a house, her senses attuned to the minutest detail. But then, she remembered it was HER house, and she was a mom again...a victim. The woman Sara usually pitied and tried to help. She felt like she was walking on two different planes.  
  
Finally, they reached the kitchen table. On it was a piece of paper. Sara's CSI instincts kicked in, and she automatically started analyzing it.  
  
"Hmmm....paper's from the Queen Charlotte Motel. That'll be easy to trace. Handwriting is surprisingly neat, however. Almost feminine...But that's impossible. Kate said it was a man..." Sara mused, thinking out loud. The same thought occurred to Sara and Brass at the same time.  
  
"What if..."  
  
"Kate?"  
  
Perhaps I was right to be suspicious of her, Sara thought wryly. Grissom hadn't said anything. He was too busy reading the note.  
  
"Sara..." he choked. When Sara turned concerned eyes on him, she noticed that his face was ghostly pale, and his hands were shaking.  
  
"Griss? Are you OK? What's wrong? You look like you've seen the dead."  
  
"I have..." he muttered cryptically, and pointed at the note.  
  
"Read it." As Sara skimmed her eyes over the paper, she felt her face blanch to match Grissom's. Suddenly, she felt dizzy, like the world was spinning, and a sick, floaty feeling came over her. It wasn't enough that her baby was gone. Sara's worst nightmare was coming truer every second.  
  
Then, the ground rose to meet her....and everything went black. 


	3. Lots of Love

A word of warning...this is a VERY angsty chapter, I would stay. All who dare may read on.  
  
I don't own CSI....or Disney for that matter.  
  
Pleeeease R/R!!!!!  
  
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"Sara? Sara, honey, you have to get up now." Who was waking her up from that nice nap? There was nothing bad there. Just warm, silky darkness. It was so calm...so peaceful. Sara frowned with her eyes wedged shut, and curled into a ball. You could imagine her sticking her thumb into her mouth.  
  
"Go 'way," she said, and then muttered a string of rebellious, stubborn, sleepy nonsense. She tried to nudge off the hand on her shoulder, but it kept shaking her.  
  
"Come on Sara..." Somebody kissed her lightly. Her eyes fluttered open to find Grissom leaning over her. A bit of his color had returned, and he didn't look quite as shaken up. She reached up and pulled him down, hugging him tightly, relishing the safety, comfort, and calmness he radiated.  
  
"OK. I'm awake. What's up?" She knew what was up. That letter was what was up. She tried to push it to the back of her mind, but it refused to go. She found herself remembering what it had said, in spite of herself.  
  
"So, Gil Grissom! You finally married that girl...the little college student? You two were destined you know. You both have so much in common! You are both second-rate CSI's, and you both are no match for me. I'd like to see you try to get your brat back. You, Gil, with a whole team of half-wits at your beck and call. Too bad they won't do you any good now.  
  
Oh, you don't need to worry, Mrs. Grissom. He's not dead yet. The yet is the key. Mustn't lose hope darling. By some fluke, you might find him. But then, it would have to be a very lucky fluke for you. Even luckier than the one that caused you to get me the first time...because this time I'll be more careful.  
  
I'm sure you have noticed the Queen Charlotte Motel paper? Even you should have, though perhaps I give you too much credit...A dead end. Don't bother to follow it up. Of course, if you do...you can be sure I'll be there. Laughing at your ineptitude! The best part is that you won't know I'm there!  
  
I always did make a better CSI than you, Gil. Too bad Harvard didn't realize that. Well, it's their loss, I will always maintain. Though I blame you, Gil. You should have married me instead of that little slut. I might have been able to teach you how to be a real CSI. But now, it's too late for you. And soon, it will be too late for your son as well!  
  
Lots of love, Vivian"  
  
Sara could almost hear that mocking voice in her head. Vivian Densport...a beautiful, brilliant professor at Harvard with a passion for explosives and the entomologist, Gil Grissom. Nobody could figure out why he wouldn't have anything to do with her. Half the male population of Harvard was vying for her attention. When a student was murdered, and Grissom discovered his body, he took over the case. Vivian volunteered to help, but by then, Grissom had met her, Sara, and a friendship had developed between them. When they worked that case together, her first case, Sara realized that she didn't just like Gil Grissom. She was head-over-heels in love with him.  
  
When he was at the scene, intently hunting for evidence, looking for pieces of the puzzle. Or when they stayed up all night, heads bent together, bouncing ideas off each other. And she loved the look on his face when he made a connection, when the light bulb went on over his head.  
  
This particular light bulb had meant the ruination of Vivian, who was stealing money from the school, and killed the boy, her devoted and enamored accomplice to keep it secret. Grissom and Sara had let the secret out...and from then on, they had been a pair, a team.  
  
Grissom noticed her face, and smiled wryly.  
  
"Vivian always did tend towards the dramatic. It comes from watching all those Disney movies. She thinks she's some sort of Camille de Vil." Sara, who had been an avid Disney watcher as a child, and a particular lover of 101 Dalmatians, corrected him gently.  
  
"Cruella de Vil, Griss." Gil gave her a bewildered stare, discovering yet another hidden facet of the mystery some called Sara. She grinned, and shrugged helplessly.  
  
"Anyway, she thinks very highly of herself for someone who was forced to embezzle money to make ends meet. I would say that, besides knowing personally she's not as good as she says, vanity tends to make people careless."  
  
"Then you think there's hope?" Sara enquired, searchingly.  
  
"There's always hope, Sara, if you look," he said quietly.  
  
"I thought she was gone long ago..." Sara whispered. "You know that was a grueling case. I could tell, even though it was my first. You also know that she IS as good as she says. This won't be easy, Grissom."  
  
Sara looked close to tears again (she noted that it was the first time she had cried since beyond recollection, and the first time, EVER, that she had fainted or considered doing anything of the kind), but was saved by Warrick and Catherine's entrance. Their calm, stoic professionalism served to calm her down and put things into perspective, as they started processing the umbrella and the lamp. The letter had already been whisked away to Greg's domain, but Sara didn't need a copy. The words were burned into her mind, and would not be leaving any time soon.  
  
Nobody would say that Catherine and Warrick weren't shaken, everyone had loved Charlie at the lab, but they just didn't allow it to affect what needed to be done to save him. Sara admired that, but also wondered at it. Perhaps it was a good thing she wasn't investigating this case. Grissom was most likely right. But then again, wasn't he always? She sighed. Break time over.  
  
"Grissom, don't you think we should book reservations at a hotel or something? We probably aren't getting our house back any time soon." He looked somewhat started.  
  
"I hadn't thought of that," he said accusingly. Right, she thought, that's what I'm here for.  
  
"Cath...Warrick? You know where to find us if you need to...umm....speak with us." Catherine studied Sara's face intently, but finally came to an inward decision. Nodding decisively, she said,  
  
"All right. I'll talk to you later. You two should go and get some rest or something. You look both look awful."  
  
That's how Sara came to be sobbing into a strange pillow in a strange room, at midnight that night, feeling as if she could finally acknowledge the fact that her heart was broken. 


	4. To Kill A Mockingbird

The person I need to thank for this knows who she is...**cough cough A Bloom** Anyway, R/R! (and I know I just put a chapter up...but oh well!)  
  
Lots of various disclaimers...Let's see, I don't own CSI, I don't even own Push-Pop Inc. or whatever it's called, and I don't own the novel To Kill A Mockingbird though I wish I did because it is one of the most wonderful books I have ever read. If someone here hasn't read it...then what are you still doing here??? Don't read another word of this unworthy fan fiction! Go on.....scram! Go to the library or something...read it NOW. If you have read it...you may continue....  
  
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Greg Sanders stared bleakly at a pile of neatly, precisely labeled evidence bags. Somehow, he just couldn't bring himself to touch them. Though Charlie was a regular around the whole lab, he always seemed to end up at "Uncle Gweggy's" door eventually. Greg kept a secret candy stash for the frequent visits, and Charlie could spend hours sitting there, swinging his short, stubby legs on a tall stool, sucking on a lollipop between conversations.  
  
They always had something to talk about, Greg remembered fondly. From instructions on the finer points of playing an air guitar to a philosophical discussion of the superiority of grape push-pops, they were never short of intelligent subject matter. Catherine would say that it was because they had about the same mental capacity, but Greg loftily preferred to take that as a compliment to Charlie, rather than as any slight to himself or his own level of maturity.  
  
He grinned as he remembered the first time he had picked up Charlie, and the baby had barfed all over him, and then looked up at his face and laughed delightedly.  
  
He could practically see them parading solemnly down the hall in those outlandish, vibrant, gigantic hats made out of a whole bag of balloons. Or when Greg had pretended to have misplaced the results of an important test, which was Charlie's cue to come in exclaiming about all the confetti he had been able to make with a few pieces of paper he had seen lying around. Sara had almost murdered him, but it was worth it to see the look on her face as she was told the demise of her precious results.  
  
Greg came out of his nostalgic reverie only to notice that silent tears were streaming down his face. Who'd want to abduct such an innocent child? Who would be cruel enough to harm Charlie? It shocked him every day when he saw the extent people went to. Perhaps he was too naïve, or willing to believe the best in everyone, but he could not imagine the evil person who would harm such a little boy.  
  
Just then, Catherine walked by. She looked in consternation at Greg.  
  
"Greg...Go home. It's been a rough night on all of us. You're no use to Charlie if you can't do your job."  
  
"But..." Greg gestured helplessly at his evidence table.  
  
"Go! I'll clear it with the boss, OK? Maybe get someone else to fill in for tonight." Greg thanked her, a little incoherently, and taking her advice, sped home.  
  
By the time he stumbled forlornly into his house, he had decided he needed a distraction of some sort. A book maybe? Then, for some reason, two quotes came unbidden into his mind.  
  
"That's what I thought too," he said at last, "when I was your age. If there's just one kind of folks, why can't they get along with each other? If they're all alike, why do they go out of their way to despise each other?"  
  
"Mockingbirds don't do one thing but make music for us to enjoy...they don't do one thing but sing their hearts out. That's why it's a sin to kill a mockingbird."  
  
Greg went to the bookshelf, and picked up Harper Lee's famous novel. He knew there would be no distractions tonight. And there would be no respite until he knew if this particular mockingbird was alive or dead. He sat down on the couch, with the book still in his hands, and let the memories and helpless rage overcome him. 


End file.
